


monsters steal me away

by hoars



Series: that boy is a monster [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Blood, M/M, Mating, Mpreg, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a monster in the forest that has taught Stiles to lie and to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	monsters steal me away

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bright Autumn Moon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/481864) by [HiddenByFaeries](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenByFaeries/pseuds/HiddenByFaeries). 



> I've been meaning to share this one for a very, very long time.

There’s a monster in the forest that has taught Stiles to lie and to love.

The monster isn’t what you’d expect. He’s a beautiful man. He has these sharp cheekbones Stiles touches with reverence and green eyes to rival Nietzsche’s abyss. As beautiful as he is, he’s still a monster that howls under the moon, has fangs that can pierce through skin like wet tissue paper, claws that can puncture the skin with a little pressure, animal strength and speed and senses.

His name is Derek.

Derek teaches Stiles about secrets. How to care for them, hide them and create them. Derek corrupts Stiles.

The first secret Derek teaches him to create is what Stiles saw in the forest the night Jackson dared him to bring back a wolf’s bane flower.

(“What are you doing here?” The man snarls, his eyes red. Devil’s eyes. His breath is hot on Stiles’ face and he honestly believes he’s going to die. He should have listened to Scott and his dad and never came into the woods.

Jackson is such an asshole.

“I’m here for a flower! Please! Don’t hurt me!” Stiles whimpers.

The man has him pressed against a tree, the bark scratching the skin his hiked hoodie and shirt doesn’t cover, his arm heavy across Stiles’ throat and face way too close. Stiles can smell his breath. Like mint. He thinks mint wouldn't be so bad as the last thing he smelled if he were going to die. He just wouldn't prefer it. 

“You’re risking your life for a flower?” The man mocks. “Don’t you know monsters live in this forest?”

“I know that. Sort of. I just never thought about it since I’ve never seen anything scarier than dead mountain lions comes out of here. I didn’t think--”

“You didn’t think we’re real?”

The man doesn’t look like a monster for all that he has red eyes. He looks human. A perfect human specimen that even with the threat against his life, Stiles can’t help but appreciate. If he wasn’t so striking, so memorable, Stiles has no doubt this so called monster could pass as a resident of Beacon Hills.

“You don’t look like a monster to me.” Stiles says.

The man tilts his head, curious at Stiles’ lack of pleading and conversational tone. Everyone panics differently. “Monsters never do. Not the really vicious ones.” He releases Stiles and takes a step back.

“Dude, what kind of monster are you?” Stiles asks. “The sexy type? Like an incubus?”

“Don’t call me dude. What flower were you looking for?” The man says, rudely ignoring Stiles’ questions. Maybe a good thing. Probably why he's still breathing.

“Then what’s your name?” Stiles asks. “And rude. I was looking for devil’s helmet, not that I should—whoa! Hello tree!” The bark scratches the small of his back again and forces a wince out of him. The man takes a deep inhale.

“My name is Derek. Why are you looking for _that_ flower? Are you one of Argents?"

At least the arm to the throat isn’t back. “No! A guy from school asked me to! I'm a normal guy!” His ribs still hurt from where Jackson rammed into him at practice and twinge at his mental thought of the dick. “He said if I got it for him, he’d talk to Coach about me starting. In lacrosse. No hunting activities! At all!"

"Why devil's helmet?" Derek asks.

"I don't know! Maybe he just thought the name sounded cool! Personally, I was hoping he thought it was edible and had plans to eat it."

This Derek breathes deeply again, one of his hands finding his bruised ribs with startling accuracy. "Ow!" He winces and tries wiggling away from the guy's probing seeking hand.

"He give you this?"

"He's an overly aggressive asshat. Someone should seriously tell him not to treat teammates like that. Unsportsman like." The red drains from Derek's eyes, leaving mossy green eyes behind.

"I'll help you. Then you leave." Derek says.

The man that claims to be a monster leads him to a thicket of blue-purple flowers. They looked like flimsy paper hats. Not impressive at all. Maybe kind of pretty if Stiles squinted.

"This is disappointing." Stiles says. "Really."

He breaks a small branch off the plant and stares at it. "Huh. I thought with a name like devil's helmet, it'd be cooler. And red. I honestly expected it to be red."

"Put it in your pocket." Derek orders and then leads him out of the forest, delivering him exactly to his Jeep. The monster named Derek pushes him against his Jeep one last time, bringing his face close to growl. "Don't come back!"

Stiles squeaks.

Monster-man snaps his teeth in his face -- mint and wet heat again -- and Stiles slides down when Derek lets go of his shirt. He scrambles up quickly, trying to regain his equilibrium. Fear makes him sweat, but his curiosity makes him bold.

"Hey! How did you know--where I parked?"

When he looks around, the monster-man is nowhere to be seen.)

The second secret Stiles learns to keep is that of his whereabouts when he slips into the forest and Derek’s den.

(Derek is interesting and new and completely different from anyone Stiles has ever met.

"I'm going to Scott's." He lies to his dad.

"I'm grounded." He lies to Scott. 

He goes into the forest again the next night. He tramples through the forest with no grace whatsoever, but he’s used to flat fields of lawn rather than crowded trees, thorny bushes and dirt lumps trying to trip him.

His mind knows the way, even if his feet don't. He watches for the markers that would tell him if he's heading into Derek's territory or another monster's. He can't say how he knows, just that he does.

It’s one of those he'll recognize it when he sees it things.

_Instinct_.

Derek's den is a small cottage, shack really but cottage sounds better, that is trying to disappear amongst the trees.

His breathing too quick, Stiles wipes his hands on his jeans and ventures to the cottage's door to knock.

"What are you doing here?" Monster-man-Derek snarls, yanking him close again. His face close to Stiles', breathing deep and controlled breaths.

"Looking for you!" Stiles says, grabbing Derek's shoulder and waist for balance.)

The third secret he hoards is the mating bites on his throat, inner thigh and wrist.

(“You have to be sure,” Derek says, the wolf crawling in his voice. “Tell me again.”

 “I want you to. I want to be yours. Your, ah, mate.” Stiles says for what feels like the third time. He still sounds like stupid kid when he says that word 'mate' but wants so much he could choke on it. “ _Please_.”

 Derek growls, not unlike the beast he's forced to turn into at every full moon, and stops asking. The feel of incisors breaking Stiles' skin hurts. Holy fuck, it hurts. It feels too much like Derek entering him roughly to make him howl because the fucker thinks the sounds Stiles makes are funny. The bite makes him want to scream, and he's deep in the woods. Those that would be able to hear him wouldn't judge him. And so the next bite he screams. It feels good to abuse his vocal chords. The werewolf squeezes him tight and it is as Derek intends, comforting. The pricks of his claws keeping him in his body and the vibrations from his chest pushing Stiles elsewhere. His brain isn't agreeing in anything; the data is conflicting. Ow, hurts, Derek, _do it._ The last bite, Stiles feels delirious with pain and high on the scent of blood. He brings his wrist to Derek's mouth for the last bite. As painful as it is, he wants it, impossibly, he thinks he wants it more than Derek.

 " _Mine,"_ One of them growls into the mouth of the other, nails dragging vibrant red lines across quick to heal skin.

 "Yours," Derek-the-werewolf rumbles licking tears from his cheek. "Thank you," Derek-the-lover chokes.)

The fourth secret he helps create is the swell of his stomach and the kick of the cub’s feet.

(He wears his baggie hoodies, thankful, that he always preferred the loose fabric than that of the tight ones that showed off his figure way before he stumbled into Derek. Or before Derek stumbled _into_ him. Heh.

 Stiles is quick to get off the lacrosse team when he realizes what happened. Why he's sick, tired and achy. Lacrosse, especially with Jackson, is a contact sport, and he refuses to take risks.

 He takes his sudden free time to walk around the forest under Derek's distant but watchful eye. Derek never comes to him when the sun shines. Stiles had hoped with the scars on his neck, his wrist and inner thigh would change that, but Derek persists in being taciturn.

 "I don't want to hurt you." Derek admits late one evening.

 "You won't." Stiles says.

 But the only one who trusts Derek is Stiles, so Derek keeps his distance during the day, building trust in himself now that his lover is his and expecting. Stiles thinks he's stupid, but the fear runs deep in Derek, so he simply gives him the stink eye and continues his merry walks.

 The walking is the only real exercise he gets. He loses contact with Scott because of it, which isn't so bad, he guesses. He never could hide anything from Scott. This way the little cub growing inside stays a secret and they both stay safe.

 Sometimes, he has nightmares about what the town would do if they found out. What his dad would do. It wasn't uncommon for allies of monsters to be burned or beheaded. _Do your duty, happen what may_ \-- hunters were bred and raised in Beacon Hills and then set loose on the world, deserved or not. Stiles often thinks, staring at the fat moon with a wolf's head on his knee, _sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc._ Something his mom used to say, something he now says to Derek and their forming child.

 Derek is right.

The dangerous monsters don't always look like monsters. )

These are the secrets Stiles would kill or die to protect.

_We gladly feast on those who would subdue us._


End file.
